S.R. 1391, April 29
Frodo was dimly aware of gentle hands removing his nightshirt. A soft cloth wrung out in warmed water bathed his perspiration-drenched body before he was dried and dressed in a soft, dry nightshirt and wrapped again in blankets. He blinked dizzily, unsure if he was even awake.
“Bilbo?” he murmured faintly.
“Shhh…” Bilbo’s soft voice soothed him, gentle hands stroked his hair. “Your fever’s broken, my boy, and that’s a good thing. Back to sleep with you… shhh now… I’m here…” Frodo’s eyelids slid shut as he sighed and sank back into sleep.
~*~
“I know you just want to sleep, my boy, but you must start to eat again. Sit up a bit, now.”
Frodo let Bilbo prop him up against the pillows, and listlessly swallowed the warm soup his uncle spooned into his mouth.
“Is it tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Bilbo with a smile. “Another spoonful… that’s it.”
“Bilbo, I just can’t… stay awake,” Frodo murmured.
“I know it’s difficult,” said Bilbo. He dipped pieces of bread into the soup and encouraged Frodo to keep eating. “You must eat, Frodo-lad. Do you remember how we had to coax Aragorn to eat, at first? Speaking of Aragorn…” Bilbo put down the mug and replaced it with a cupful of juice. “… he’s making something for you. A surprise.”
Frodo smiled, then noticed the dark circles under his uncle’s eyes.
“You need to rest, Bilbo. You look tired.”
“Now don’t you worry about me, my boy,” said Bilbo. He helped Frodo to drink some juice, then settled the sleepy boy back into the nest of blankets. “How much sleep do you suppose any of us got, sitting at a dragon’s very doorstep? Why, it was the oddest place a hobbit’s ever been, to be sure…”
Frodo smiled as he listened to the familiar story, Bilbo’s voice slowly fading as he sank back into the warm darkness.
~*~
“Ah now, there we are. Are you awake again, little one?”
Frodo slowly opened his eyes to Aragorn’s face. The Ranger was seated on the bed at his side.
“H’lo,” whispered Frodo. He blinked sleepily. “Something smells so good…”
Aragorn smiled and helped Frodo to sit up against the pillows.
“Bilbo was courageous enough to let me into his kitchen,” said Aragorn. He pulled a napkin-covered plate off the table next to the bed, and set it in Frodo’s lap. “I doubt he’ll make that mistake again.” He pulled the napkin away to reveal a plateful of cookies.
Frodo peered curiously at the oddly-shaped treats and couldn’t keep a smile off his face. “These are very… interesting, Aragorn,” he said.
“Interesting, are they?” asked Aragorn. “Well, I suppose trolls have very interesting shapes, at that.” He put a piece of cookie into Frodo’s mouth. “You must remember that these are the first cookies I’ve ever baked, so…”
“You made these? For me? They’re wonderful,” said Frodo, swallowing. He looked at the cookies more closely, distracted for the moment from how dizzy and weak he still felt. “Do all trolls have three arms?”
“That’s not an arm, that’s the head.”
“I suppose a troll could have three arms.” Frodo nodded at the cookie currently in Aragorn’s hands. “Now this one… if I really use my imagination---”
Aragorn looked at the boy sternly. “I have seen trolls and you have not, Frodo Baggins. This is exactly what they look like.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better.” Seeing the boy more alert, and smiling, and devouring a steady stream of cookie pieces, Aragorn started to relax for the first time in days.
“This time, I suspect that trolls really are responsible for a fearful mess in the kitchen,” said Frodo with a grin.
Aragorn laughed in delight. This child’s resilience and wit, and gentle friendship, were as a balm to his weary heart.
“I want to see it,” said Frodo. Aragorn saw the boy looking down at his bandaged hand.
“All right.” Aragorn put the plate of cookies aside and took the boy’s hand into his lap. “It’s time we saw how this is doing.”
Frodo watched as Aragorn unwrapped the bandages from his hand, and he saw the long cut across his palm. The skin was already beginning to knit together.
“I don’t remember getting hurt,” said Frodo with a frown, as Aragorn gently smoothed a sweet-smelling ointment into the cut, then wrapped his hand in fresh bandages.
“Does it hurt badly?”
“No,” said Frodo. “It just stings a little.”
Frodo gulped eagerly at the cup of cold milk Aragorn held to his lips, then let the Ranger help him lay back down.
“Were you this dizzy, Aragorn?”
“I certainly was,” smiled Aragorn. “Every time I stood up, I nearly toppled over.” He looked closely at the boy. “Frodo,” he said, “If you’re feeling up to it, may I ask you about what you remember from last night?”
The boy nodded.
“You were in my room, holding my knife… then Bilbo and Gandalf came into the room. What happened after that?”
Frodo closed his eyes, thinking hard. “When Bilbo came in… I wanted him to dis --- to run, but he wouldn’t. He kept telling me he was all right…”
Aragorn frowned, but stayed quiet. Disappear? There it was again. It was obvious that this was something Frodo knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about. Interesting.
“Everything…” Frodo faltered, and Aragorn took his uninjured hand and held it gently. “Everything started spinning, and I felt sick and so hot, and…” He opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn, puzzled. “I… I got lost somewhere, and I heard you calling me.”
“Did you see me?” Aragorn asked.
“No,” Frodo replied. “I heard you call my name, and you said some words I didn’t understand, and I… I wasn’t lost anymore. I was back in bed, and… and I woke up.”
Aragorn nodded.
“That’s all I remember,” Frodo said sleepily, closing his eyes again.
Aragorn sighed and tucked the blankets back around the boy with his free hand. “We’ll talk again later, little one,” he said.
“M’not little,” murmured Frodo.
Aragorn chuckled softly. “We’ll wake you for a proper dinner. Rest now.”
“Don’t eat… all the cookies…”
The small hand in Aragorn’s loosened and relaxed as Frodo fell asleep.
First > Previous > Next